OSaBC Tales - Brasil Eterno
by SLotH4
Summary: In the year 2061, the land of Brazil was laid waste and its people put to the sword. Those who survived live on in destitution and squalor. But some still cling to the memory of their homeland even as they endure the barbs of those who cast them down. An impossible dream, against an inescapable reality. Set in LogicalPremise's "Premiseverse."
1. Parte Um

**A/N:** _I've had this idea on the back-burner for a while. This may be the last PV short story I write, and it's been a hell of a ride. (NOTE: This was the fifth PV story I wrote and published on **LP's** forum. The other stories will be published here in the future.) I wouldn't be anywhere near where I am as a writer if it weren't for **LogicalPremise's** little Discord channel of chaos and insanity. Working with him and the others has expanded my view of the world at-large and the world of writing. But most of all, it was **Jacob** who helped me grow into something better. He helped with my first short story, the introduction piece to Estêvão Volinski, and he helped me expand and refine what you're about to read. He's been a good friend and partner._

_Special thanks to **Sikor_Seraph** and **Sevoris** for helping with the drone conversation in the beginning, and **Nogui** for helping with some of the Portuguese._

_Without further ado, part one of **"Brasil Eterno**.**"**_

* * *

Data streams filled the haptic display screen. Bits of information bereft of order and context. Each scrolling by as softly glowing eyes took them in with ravenous glee. Nirin'Ptrun's smile grew wistful as her thoughts wandered to her… mate? Bahnt? Captain? That one was probably the most accurate. He'd questioned her needs in the past, this overwhelming compulsion to snoop and sneak.

He called her an 'e-klepto.'

She called him a 'man with boring computer passwords.'

With wandering hands that reached out to steal whatever bit of information she could find, no matter how mundane or vitally important, it was all the same. Something to seize. Something that wasn't meant for her luminous eyes.

Nirin glanced over at her bahnt as he fiddled with his mechanical prosthetics at the omni-bench. The left forearm compartment was fully opened as he tightened screws and reloaded the disposable 'party favors' – flares, drones, grenades, etc.

She grinned as she remembered the feel of his strong metal hands last night, and the teasing electricity they could expel on command. She'd have to have him reenact his performance once he was done with his calibrations.

"How'd that drone swarm work out for you, Estê-kun?" she asked, breaking the silence of their bedroom.

"Not bad. The targeting algorithms are good, but the coordination between them is iffy," Estêvão Volinski answered with a frown, "Something's preventing the VIs from communicating properly."

"Could be clock drift between platforms."

"Sounds likely, though I can't see a cause. Firmware is consistent across the swarm and the VIs' logic engines know to watch for time inconsistency and self-correct."

"Put them in debug mode and set them to 'bake-out' in the cargo hold with a repeating flying routine."

"The brute-force method?" Volinski asked with a cocked eyebrow, then he shrugged, "I'll give it a shot."

"Mm," Nirin hummed as she turned back to her console and cracked her knuckles, wiggling her fingers to get the blood flowing as she prepared her digital thralls for the coming battle.

She'd taken a series of custom-built VIs and placed them into a processing stack with FTL circuits before uploading a simulated neural pattern – modeled off the kirik beetles of Ekram. This turned her VI stacks into what was known as an 'augmented-neural interface' system.

Volinski had called it an 'AI,' which Nirin vehemently denied in the strongest possible language. She compared the ANI to a vorcha – _technically_ sapient, but only _technically_. And much like a vorcha, _completely_ harmless – yes, the room is on fire, but it's _friendly_ fire, everything's fine, stop worrying so much. She continued to downplay any potential risk as she set about creating six more ANIs – which she named after the murder victims in an archaic horror movie they'd watched.

The HelNet was an interesting database, its architecture as unique as the mind of its creator. It was a challenge in the beginning, especially with EVA patrolling the servers, but once there was a crack in the firewall, the whole system opened up to her. She always covered her tracks after a long day of dredging the servers with her polymorphic ANI cluster swarms, and she'd never been reprimanded for snooping. She felt safe and carefree, even as she bypassed the security of the Illusive Man's inner sanctum.

* * *

Volinski felt a tingle on the back of his neck and glanced over to his quarian. Her silvery eyes staring at the screen, unblinking. Her tongue licking her lips as they rubbed together, one of her many tics when she was 'in the zone.'

He smiled at that as he finished calibrating the drone software. That look, hunched over a computer screen with her body tense and coiled. It was 'Niri at her Niri-est.' The one time she was truly in her element. Killing batarians? Fucking her man? Nothing could compare to this moment, when the digital world was laid bare before her.

* * *

The network's custom-built firewall – the HelNet's greatest non-sapient defense and Mr. Harper's crowning achievement – coalesced into an enormous lava golem, towering dozens of meters above. At its sagging, stump-like feet – clad in glowing cobalt armor – stood defiantly a lithe quarian with a strange golden-glowing sword in her hands.

The Heroic Spirit drew a deep breath and lifted the blade above her head and screamed with all her might, "EXCALIBUUUUUUUUUR!"

As she drew down the blade, a violent wave of blinding gold light rushed away and consumed the golem in purifying radiance, leaving not a trace of the monster behind. As the glare dissipated, the lone knight sheathed her holy blade and trudged past the guardian's redoubt and into the HelNet's deepest, darkest servers to plunder their secrets and treasures.

* * *

Volinski was tweaking the flight VI for his HUSSAR rig when he heard a giggle coming from the nearby computer desk. Glancing up, he saw a giddy smirk on Nirin's face as she tapped a haptic button once or twice – looking every bit the stereotypical slacker hacker wearing one of his oversized t-shirts. Then she revealed a predatory grin of sharp teeth and dramatically mumbled the word 'Excalibur' while slamming her tri-fingered hand down on that same haptic button.

The Brazilian gave a grunt and returned to his work, disinclined as he was to delve too deeply into her fantasies. As long as the room wasn't on fire, there was no reason to get involved.

* * *

Basking in her victory against insurmountable odds, Nirin slouched in her chair with an aura of absolute contentment as her primary ANI cluster set about decrypting the data she'd just purloined from the HelNet. How she wished it could be more than idle fancy to fight the daemons in the digital world with her bare, virtual-reality hands, but the technology just didn't exist yet. She wasn't even sure she would use it. If someone hacked it, did they hack into your very mind?

On the nearby vidscreen there was a regal man giving an interview to the 'angry news lady.' Nirin wasn't paying attention, and her bahnt seemed too busy to care what was said, that is, until the Japanese Emperor addressed the Fall of Ilium.

_"The humans on Ilium were not Alliance citizens – every one of them renounced such to go to Ilium, and some of those were criminals or worse. Ilium hosted, for reasons we cannot fathom, the single largest concentration of humans with Brazilian ancestry in the galaxy after Oro, and their loss is not exactly _tragic_."_

"Neither was Nagasaki, you slant-eyed nip," Volinski grumbled under his breath.

Nirin tittered at his venomous, redundant words. "Estê-kun, he can't hear you."

"Neither can your anime characters," he snapped, "but that doesn't stop you from yelling at them."

"My waifu was being stupid! I _had_ to yell at her."

"Pfft, anime was a mistake, through and through. I'll never forgive Pam for sharing that shit with you."

"Estê-kun, don't be such a bully." Sliding a claw through her silvery quills and tousling the bound bundles – Brooks had called them 'pigtails' – she turned back to the computer screen as it gave soft 'ding.'

The decryption came to an end and she saw something very interesting on the screen. It was a familiar room that she'd never once visited in-person – and likely never would. The Illusive Man's inner sanctum, an atrium overlooking the churning hellscape of a star with a single chair to take in the spectacle. And sitting in that chair was the man himself, Jack Harper, her… Admiral. And floating nearby in the QEC projector was the bane of any quarian's existence, an unshackled AI of incomprehensible power.

She beckoned her man with a claw. "Come here, Estê-kun, I found something in the network."

"Niri, we've been over this," he said with a weary sigh as he reengaged the magnetic locks on his forearm compartment, "You can't keep hacking the network whenever you feel like it. I can't protect you if things go sideways."

"Since when do I need protection?" Nirin huffed in indignation, "Besides, they need my help against the Shadow Broker. You worry too much."

"You're working on a deficit of good will to begin with, Niri. You've been given a lot of leeway for an alien… that won't last forever. Especially if you keep fucking off in patrão's systems."

Nirin narrowed her glowing eyes as she prepared her rebuttal, which took the form of a blown raspberry.

"Cristo, you're like a child sometimes," he said as he slowly shook his head and clucked his tongue, "Fine. What have you found?"

"I haven't watched it yet, but it looks like Vigil-bō having a conversation with Mr. Illusive-dono."

Volinski's attention was arrested momentarily as his brain stumbled over that last piece. A _private_ conversation between the Illusive Man and the AI known as 'Vigil.'

"Are you fucking insane?!" he demanded, whipping his head around like he was possessed, "Patrão would kill us both if he knew you were spying on him!"

"I'm not spying on him," Nirin huffed, "I just _happened_ upon it."

"That's not a valid excuse!" Volinski admonished, "Nirin'Ptrun, I swear to God, you will be the fucking _death_ of me!"

Nirin responded with a face that radiated smugness so dense it could bend light.

Volinski narrowed his eyes. "You'd actually be proud of yourself for that, wouldn't you?"

Inexplicably, her expression became even more smug – it proved too strong for her bahnt to withstand.

Relenting with a heavy sigh, Volinski sauntered over to the computer. "Fuck it… What'd you find?"

Nirin pressed the haptic button and the pair watched as the Illusive Man spoke to the Inusannon AI while it was still 'trapped' on the Citadel. They could even see Operatives Brooks and Heldra standing near the silver orb as it went about denigrating anything and everything of this time period.

* * *

Volinski rewatched the recording for the third time and was left with the same unanswered question. " 'I need to be placed in proximity to a race unlikely to be harvested.' …Why the fuck would Vigil need patrão's help with that? He can travel anywhere with a wireless connection, no? Steal a ship, or even build his own?"

"I dunno. Maybe it's testing Mr. Illusive-dono? Seeing what it can get out of him?"

"Hmm… maybe," Volinski conceded as he narrowed his eyes, "He's already preparing for the next Cycle. Hmm. Can you… reach out to him?"

"This thing is the single most sophisticated piece of _anything_ in Citadel Space. Chances are it's listening to us right now," she replied with a nervous grimace.

_Really?_ Volinski cocked an eyebrow and turned to the computer screen. "Vigil, could I have a _moment_ of your time, please?"

There was a flash of white light as the picotech AI construct popped into existence, floating above the terminal for a moment before addressing them, "You play a curious game, meatbag. I've been aware of your data-tap since I infiltrated the network. Strange that your employer tolerates it."

"Niri's good at covering her tracks."

"Mm… is that what you think? Well, I won't be the one spoil your fantasies, but I will say that if that's truly the case, then your standards are woefully inadequate. I'm sure the other construct finds your bumbling amusing, I know I do," Vigil said as its form smugly pulsed, "Fumbling around in your little sandbox like—"

Vigil broke off as it took note of a foreign object being thrust into its backside. From behind, stood a quarian in an oversized t-shirt, poking the AI with a long, floppy rod of rubber with rounded ends, as if she were gingerly assessing a corpse in the bushes.

"Stop that, you savage!" Vigil hissed, zapping the quarian with a jolt of electricity and forcing her into retreat with a yelp – dropping the sex toy in her haste. The AI turned its attention back to Volinski. "Few beyond Shepard and the Illusive Man seek to treat with me directly, yet you jumped at the chance to speak. So speak, meatbag."

Volinski straightened his back and took a deep breath. "You're preparing to fight the Reapers beyond this Cycle. I want to join that effort."

"You? What could one broken primate do for me?" the AI sneered, "I have enough on my plate keeping Shepard from falling apart into uselessness. Moreover, how are you even privy to that information? There's no way Mr. Harper would trust a cannon monkey like you with something like that."

"The fuck is a 'cannon monkey'?"

"Don't hurt your brain with that one. Now answer my question."

"Well, I… hear things, I guess? Anyway, back to the issue at hand… my people are near extinction. I wish to establish a colony in uncharted space. Far from the relay network. It would benefit your cause to take a people with no history and mold them into a weapon," Volinski insisted, offering a knowing smile as he continued, his social augmentations helping to coach his features, "I imagine it would be easier to do that with a blank slate species than trying to mold one that's already established, like the yahg or the kintul."

"Are your people any better?" Vigil asked as it scrutinized him for a moment before bobbing slightly in the air, "Humans are fickle, and these Brazilians I assume you're referring to are nothing but barbarous trash. They're unruly criminals."

"I know… that's why I want to start over. I found…" Volinski trailed off, his eyes narrowing as his quarian stalked up behind the AI, marital aid once more in hand, "Niri, _don't_."

The quarian ignored him and poked the AI again, her glowing eyes widening as the obscene paraphernalia turned to dust from one tip to the other – dropping it before it reached her fingers. The girl jumped back, landing like reared cat on the nearby desk chair – spinning on the swivel as she glared at the glowing orb and hissed in indignation, "Bosh'tet! You killed 'Único Amigo'!"

Vigil's sphere contracted in indignation. "That Mr. Harper would tolerate something like _that_, makes me question his sanity. Your pet is a loon."

"I prefer to call her 'eccentric,' Volinski offered, downplaying the girl's flimsy hold on reality.

"_I_ am eccentric, she's howling at the moon."

"Oh come on," Volinski tried before mumbling, "she hasn't done that in weeks."

Vigil became very quiet. "You have an indeterminate amount of time to explain yourself before I atomize the both of you."

"I found a garden world! Fuck!" Volinski all but screamed, throwing both hands in the air like her was under arrest, "It's suitable for human habitation and I want to populate it with Brazilians!"

Vigil did not react beyond floating in place. Volinski took it as a good sign that he and his quarian were still alive, though that was hardly the benchmark he wanted to use.

Taking a nervous gulp of air, he continued, "Specifically, children conceived from those of Brazilian descent. That is my request, a refuge for my people – a tabula rasa from our sins. Raise them as you see fit. I only ask that they know their culture and history from before the Imperador ruined us."

Vigil continued to… stare? It wasn't clear. But after a moment, the AI broke its silence, "Why do you place such arbitrary restrictions upon your request, meatbag? Isn't it enough to have a colony of humans safely tucked away from the Reapers? Is a pack of barely sentient rapists, murderers, and war criminals worth such effort? Most would argue in favor of their extermination. When the Reapers do come, assuming this fool plan of yours works, you will have chosen to save the deformed remains of humanity's worst at the expense of billions of those who weren't tainted."

_Seriously? Even an AI talks shit on my people? We're not fucking vorcha!_

Volinski couldn't hide the flash of pain on his face, nor the bitterness in his voice, "I didn't realize a few caveats made it such a daunting prospect. And here I thought you more than a floating lightbulb."

"Insults? Trying to attack my pride?" Vigil asked, his form pulsing.

It was right about then that Volinski felt his bowels turn to jelly with unease. Lashing out at a literal killing machine was… unwise.

"I, uh… I'm sure I don't kno— Oh shit!" Volinski exclaimed as his prosthetics went into revolt – legs folding into themselves as the hands moved to strangle their owner.

Nirin leapt out of the chair and was alight with the red glow of her omni-tool as she shot at the silver orb with her Arc pistol – the electroplasma discharge having no effect. She attempted an overload from her omni-tool, only for her body to seize up when the voltage ground out through her instead, rendering her unconscious.

"You two are fully aware of my capabilities and my disdain for primitive yokels such as yourselves, and yet you goad me – _attack me_. Is it bravery or stupidity, I wonder?"

"Wh-Why… not… b-both?" Volinski forced out, unable to draw a breath as his rebellious fingers dug deeper into his throat.

Vigil was quiet for a moment, then its silvery form flashed as the ancient AI released its hold and actually chuckled at the man's suggestion. "Indeed. You've entertained me, jabá, but nothing more. If I wanted to waste my time conversing with barbarous trash, I would visit Heshtok. Or _Oro_."

"Eu não sou lixo, seu filho da puta," the Brazilian hissed in Portuguese between clenched teeth.

"Are you so out of touch with reality that you would deny the obvious? You're not even relevant to the man who pays your stipend, how could you possibly be anything to me? You and your pet are nothing but extras on Mr. Harper's set, a man far more interesting and useful to my goals, and even then, he's barely worth my notice. His greatest desires and schemes nothing more than a footnote. So, what does that make you? This is the greatest gambit of your life, the greatest opportunity your broken people will ever have, and it is not even the tenth most consequential thing I've considered in the last hour."

Volinski was still massaging his throat as he eyed the machine and rose to his feet. With his limbs once more under his control, he was barely able to maintain a calm exterior as he seethed with rage. His knuckles strained as he clenched his fists tighter and tighter all while grinding his molars into metaphorical dust.

"Do you understand your irrelevance, jabá? How could you be anything more than a tool when Mr. Harper won't even trust you with access to the HelNet?" the AI sneered.

Volinski's rage slowed his response, but once he processed the words it disappeared completely and left only confusion in its wake. "What do you mean?"

"You and the quarian do not have any access to the HelNet servers, whatsoever. What you use is a perfect replica of the sections you would have access to if Mr. Harper could trust your quarian to know her place."

Volinski winced at the appraisal, his thoughts drifting back to the day he joined Cerberus outright. He'd warned the Illusive Man about Nirin's disdain for digital barriers and secrets. At the time, the Cerberus leader waved it off without concern.

"If it's a replica, how can I talk to people over it? How can I edit pages while others do the same?"

"Mr. Harper's construct, EVA, created your cage and maintains all aspects of it. You use 'HelNet lite,' and she transfers your information to the real thing and vice versa."

"But Niri's always hacking—"

"Your pet is acting as an unknowing white hat hacker. The cyberdefenses of HelNet lite are identical to the real thing. When the playground's integrity is violated, EVA patches the holes in the real network. The servers your pet plays in are honeypots for the Silver Legions, the Dark Network, and the STG – she is nothing more than an unwitting bee."

Volinski was quiet, his guts twisting into knots as he reflected on the implications. Nirin was quarian, she lived to satisfy her Captain, to follow her Admiral, and to add value to her Fleet. In a sense, she was, but she didn't know it. She thought her value was killing batarians and hacking enemy systems, but her true value was apparently patching the organization's servers.

Admiral Harper didn't trust her. Fleet Cerberus was content to use her. Captain Volinski wasn't even worth being told about it.

First, he was outraged. He understood why they wouldn't trust a quarian hacker with no boundaries, but him? He had no ulterior motives. He wasn't a threat. He killed slavers and pirates and helped make space a little safer for humanity. This political maneuvering was why he'd resisted joining Cerberus for so long, content to have the shadow organization contract him and his Blood Dragons to act as proxies in the Traverse.

Some part of him, though, a part that he wasn't sure he could ever tell Nirin about, felt relieved. How many sleepless nights had he suffered because his quarian couldn't _not_ hack the HelNet? And now, knowing it was all harmless, he let out a deflated half laugh. EVA tended to act prim and proper, but he suspected she would be downright giddy over the stress she had induced in not telling him about HelNet lite.

"If what you say is true, why would EVA leave a video of you and patrão talking in the fake server?"

"I neither know nor care, her reasons are her own. Though I suspect she considered the video to be of limited importance. Not unlike you."

Volinski narrowed his eyes at the ancient machine, but refrained from lashing out. It would have been a pointless gesture, one that could quite possibly get him killed. Instead, he focused on the very real danger of Nirin learning the truth. She lived as a quarian does, finding meaning in being valuable to her Fleet, but it was all based on a lie, and if she ever found out she might try to kill herself again.

"I think I've made my point and position quite clear. So let us end this farce of a sales pitch, shall we?"

"Wait!" Volinski cried out, reaching out with his hand, "Don't—"

"Goodbye," Vigil said as his soap bubble form popped out of existence, leaving not a trace.

Volinski's hand remained outstretched for a time, before falling limply to his side as his shoulders slumped, his hopes and aspirations evaporating alongside the fickle AI. He'd gambled and lost. So hopeful to see his people restored that he went in without a plan. Jumping at the opportunity without the foggiest idea of how to convince something that reasonably viewed him as a semi-intelligent animal at best.

_Or a Brazilian,_ whispered that sour, self-loathing voice he carried with him everywhere.

There it was, that voice that wondered if his people really had deserved what happened to them, given their crimes against humanity. The voice that secretly agreed with the Japanese Emperor's sweetly poisoned words. The voice that whispered seeds of doubt and evil thoughts in the darkest corner of his mind.

It had been relatively quiet after Mindoir, when the death of his wife had awoken a brutal nationalism that hadn't existed prior to that, but every year since, it had slowly recouped more of its previous strength. Now it was like tinnitus, a constant thrum on the edge of his perception.

He'd fucked up. And as that realization settled in… his blood grew hot. His fists clenched so tightly that the polymer could be heard grinding against itself. Letting out a roar of fury and rage he struck the wall. Then he struck it again… and again… and _again_.

He kept punching, ignoring the pain emulators that screamed for him to stop. He ignored the HUD display that warned of fatigue in the titanium finger bones, even as one pinky finger stopped responding to his brain impulses. He just kept venting his frustrations as the metal paneling buckled around the fist-shaped dents.

He might have smashed his arms to pieces against the bulkhead had he not felt the ginger touch of a quarian palm on his shoulder. He leant his forehead against the wall, breathing heavily as the adrenaline played havoc with his emotions. He felt defeated, deflated. His rage was spent, and now he just wanted to curl up and cry.

"I'm sorry, Estê-kun," came Nirin's gentle voice, soothing as it always was when the nightmares seized him, "I know it meant a lot to you and I—"

"Don't, just… don't. He made his choice before he even spoke to us. There was never going to be any help in this. It just means nothing has changed. Operation: FODA-SE ARDIENTE is still at square one… I doubt it'll ever move past that point."

Nirin watched him with a frown, before forcing a playful smile. "How about a good gumming to take your mind off things?"

He shook his head. "Tempting, but I'm not in the mood."

Nirin's frown returned, her bahnt had never turned her down before. Perhaps a change of scenery would suffice. "Well, why don't we check in with Luiz-senpai and see if there aren't a few Masters we can hunt down? That always cheers you up."

Volinski frowned at the girl's choice of words, but nodded his assent. He had never really gotten used to her little idiosyncrasies when it came to the batarians. If she needed to pretend a random squint was her old Master, then so be it. At the end of the day, it didn't matter what she chose to call them… every 'Master' would get exactly what it deserved.

Well, all of them except her actual Master, ensconced as he was on Khar'shan. Justice was a fleeting thing in this dark galaxy.

_Or is it?_ Volinski thought as he remembered something he'd read about a certain hanar on the Citadel. His frown gave way to a small smile. Maybe his dream of a reborn Brazil was dead, but he could still free the woman he loved from her pain. Perhaps that was enough.


	2. Parte Dois

**A/N:** _Most of the time, my editors will ask questions and make broad suggestions regarding direction and tone, but very rarely, they'll dip into coauthor territory and actually write something themselves. _**_Jacob_**_ wrote the first couple lines of dialogue here before pulling back into ignominy where his dirty coal-covered ass belongs. It was well-received though and set the stage for the first section. In fact, the entire plot point of them being on the Citadel and meeting with Ithorex was his suggestion._

_As for the lovely Nirin'Ptrun vas _Cavaleiro Pálido_, I based her suit off of a terrific piece of art from _**_FonteArt_**_, called _**_"Quarian's Creed_**_._**_"_**

* * *

Estêvão Volinski glanced around at the polished causeways and bustling throngs of alien faces walking to-and-fro. Even the worst-dressed people were decked out in expensive dress-casual fineries. The Citadel was a wealth of culture and status – the prestigious sections at least. To even visit meant you had to be someone. To actually work there meant you were someone special.

"What's his name again?" asked Nirin'Ptrun, her arm linked with his as they walked along the Presidium.

He glanced down at the quarian before turning back to the causeway they were crossing. Nirin was wearing the same suit she always wore – or at least that's how it appeared, she had half a dozen identical sets. The deep violet glass of her helmet girdled by an ivory hood which trailed down and merged with her shoulders and continued into a flowing coattail in the back. Dark brown leather boots and gauntlets – custom-made on Omega. A scarlet sash beneath her bosom with leather straps completed the ensemble with a bold exclamation.

All around them the capital station of the galaxy pulsed with life. The air smelt of flame-pears and cherry blossoms. Three salarian workers were busy installing some kind of moss bed for an upcoming holiday, something about Shego. Some wealthy tourists were taking pictures of themselves near the Relay Monument while the locals ignored them.

"Ithorex. The, uh," Volinski paused as he tried to remember the hanar's profile, "Unready. Ithorex the Unready."

Nirin managed to snort and giggle at the same time, she bounced a bit on her feet and somehow clung to his arm even tighter. "Why do these jillies all have such goofy names? He sounds like an old mystic we have to visit before the final boss fight."

"Niri, we need to get this right, okay? We _need_ to," said Volinski.

"Don't. I know that tone, Estê-kun."

Volinski stopped walking and turned to face her, his expression saturated with annoyance. "Don't _what_?"

"Don't act like you're being forced to take me here. I'm not gonna apologize for trying to lighten the mood and enjoy what was _supposed_ to be some fun R&R."

"That's not what I said!"

"It's what you meant."

"No, it's not! It's just that when we were talking to Vigil—"

"I'm not responsible for what Vigil-bō said, or what it did. _It_ is," said Nirin, eyes flaring.

"You poked him with a dildo," Volinski deadpanned with narrowed eyes, "You don't think that affected his decision?"

"Now who's being naïve? It made its choice _long_ before it ever spoke to either of us. I don't care if you're angry with it. You should be. I am too. But don't direct it at me, Estê-kun."

"I—" Volinski stopped and sighed, "You're right. I know you're right. That paneleiro was probably listening to everything we said and did for months. Years. Who the fuck knows? He knew you were in the network, he knew what we talked about and what we've been dreaming about. And he still chose to screw us over."

They were both quiet for a moment, lost in their own thoughts and the splendid gardens and water parks of the Presidium. The shadow of a colossal stone krogan taking up the periphery.

"Hmm, I wonder if Gulta-sensei is still here," Nirin wondered aloud, breaking the silence.

"Who?"

"Gulta Noor. He took me and mom in after the rest died. He was a good volus, seemed like he actually cared about us."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah. Helped me get an under-the-table contract with Hélice Bleue as a data analyst and security specialist," Nirin said with a melancholic tone, "Life was pretty good before the company went under. Their debtors sold me off to Master in an auction with some other off-the-books contractors. Gulta-sensei… he tried so hard to find me. Hired some retired C-Sec officers to track me down."

"Now I remember, he's the one that hired us to hit the 'Setting Sun,' " Volinski said, remembering the day he found Nirin on death's door in the back of the batarian-owned brothel, "You ever reach out to him?"

"I have. Gulta-sensei was very happy to know I was free. He wanted me to come visit, but I never found the time."

"We could've made some time. All you had to do was ask."

"Mm," Nirin hummed.

"Any reason you didn't bring it up?"

"Sensei is in the past. Maybe he should stay there."

"He cared about you, Niri. That right there makes him better than ninety percent of the people in this fake paradise. You shouldn't just cast him aside when you don't need to."

Nirin was quiet, she knew he was right, broadly at least. Hell, she _wanted_ to see Gulta again, but it felt so… awkward. It had been almost a decade since they'd seen each other face-to-face – or rather, helmet to… mask? Did the volus suit have a mask, or was it considered a helmet? Nirin couldn't tell, and she shook the thought away as she forced down her melancholy and brought her bubbly persona to the fore. "Maybe one day, Estê-kun, but not today."

Volinski grunted an acknowledgment, knowing there was little point in arguing further. What someone needed, and what they wanted or were willing to do, were two very different things. All he could do was drag her along to the small art shop and hope the hanar proprietor could fix a problem of theirs.

* * *

The hanar behind the counter… glanced? It was hard to tell, given the lack of eyes, but it appeared to be studying the image of the batarian slave-lord Bassac. Volinski's ocular implants picked up a sudden shift in the UV patterns that danced across the alien's bulbous pneumatophore. In the corner of his eye he could see the other nearby hanar flash with sympathetic radiance. Volinski wondered what the two were really discussing, the translation of 'ebony convent' seemed spasmodic and disconnected from the situation. Given that the software was hanar in origin, he suspected it wasn't as accurate as they wanted everyone to believe.

"Apologies," Ithorex the Unready intoned with solemn finality, "but this one does not possess the skill needed for such a commission."

_And there's the fucking punchline. I hate this universe so goddamn much,_ Volinski thought with a scowl. He looked over his shoulder at Nirin, expecting to see the glowing puppy-dog eyes she always made when she felt dejected, but instead, she was happily tapping away at her omni-tool, utterly oblivious. _Does… she not know what's going on? Meh, might as well keep it that way._

"Is there anything else this one may do for you, traveler?"

"Não, thanks anyway," Volinski said, offering reflexive gratitude as he left the shop with his quarian. He glanced over to her and noticed the haptic screen on her omni was displaying a bunch of playing cards. "Niri, what are you doing?"

"I'm playing the Legend of Sol-Tar!"

Volinski shook his head and sighed. "It's pronounced Solitaire."

"Yeah, that's what I said," Nirin said as she eyed her man and gave a huff, "Still got your thong in a twist?"

Volinski grimaced and gave a facial shrug. "You could say that. I was hoping to get more out of this trip, but…"

"Yeah, me too. I mean, creepy-pastafarian back there had sick-ass security on that computer and all I find when I break in is some goofy sentence. Total rip-off."

The quarian girl kept walking with an annoyed shake of her head, seemingly oblivious to her human who had come up short at her words. As she glanced back, his grumpy demeanor had morphed into a quiet seething rage as he glared daggers at her. No, not daggers. _Chainsaws_. He was glaring chainsaws at her. And they were on _fire_. He was glaring flaming chainsaws at her.

"I have no idea why I feel this sense of surprise. I really don't. I know what you're like and yet there it is, gut-twisting bewilderment," he said as he shook his head, "It's like you have no sense of self-preservation when it comes to computers."

"Ridiculous. I always double-check my firewalls."

"See? That right there. Not: 'I consider the risks before I hack.' Or: 'I weigh the pros and cons beforehand.' Or better yet: 'I make sure it's worth my time.' You glibly trespass without a care in the world and you think you're untouchable. You are _not_ untouchable, Nirin'Ptrun."

"Of course not, Estê-kun. You touch me all the time," she said in a husky tone, dragging her claw slowly down her chest.

"I don't think you're taking this seriously. No sex or toys for a week."

"NANI?!"

"You're on perv lockdown, girl. It's about time I rein you in." With that, Volinski walked away in silence, leaving the dumbstruck quarian in his wake.

"Wait! Estê-kun! Hey!" Nirin yelled as she gave chase, "I'm talking to you! Don't ignore me, you jerk!"

* * *

Nirin tossed and turned, tangling herself in the bed's linens. Normally, she slept peacefully, having made a habit out of taking thanazepam every night to avoid the ever-present nightmares that haunted the tapestry of her unconscious mind. The sedatives would make her sleep less rejuvenating than it should have been – given the lack of REM – but a little grogginess was a small price to pay to not relive the brothel.

Tonight, much like the past three nights, she found her medication to be ineffective.

Volinski looked up from his workbench as his quarian thrashed about on their bed. She'd been 'off' since they'd left the Citadel, at least in terms of her sleep patterns. He set about reassembling the revolver she'd bought him from Morrigi the Peaceful – a peace offering designed to mend his bruised ego… and convince him to revoke her week-long celibacy.

It hadn't worked. And she spent the rest of the day pouting over it, and the fact that he refused to take her to 'Drilled' – the Fornax-brand sex shop in Shin Akiba – to replace the toy Vigil had so callously denatured.

He took some measure of pride in his ability to resist her for the past three days. She'd taken to wearing leather straps and latex lingerie at all hours in the sterilized captain's quarters, and striking alluring poses whenever she thought he was watching. It made him smile to think back on all her efforts. There was no one else in the galaxy who knew him like she did.

He forced the final piece into place, his ears registering the click of metal on metal as the cylinder was nestled in its home. Leaving the weapon behind, he rose from his chair and sauntered over to the bed where the naked quarian continued to thrash and mewl as her mind rode roughshod over her body. A gentle shake accompanied by her whispered name was enough to rouse her. Panicked eyes relaxed as she took in the sight of her bahnt. She sat up and threw her arms around his neck and cried into the nape. He held her close as the fear-fueled adrenaline-analogue subsided in her blood.

"It's okay, Niri. You're safe now."

"No. No I'm not," she sobbed, deep gasping breaths accompanying her cries as if she had been held underwater for too long.

"What did you see?"

She didn't answer, she only squeezed tighter and whimpered with renewed vigor.

"You can talk to me, Niri. You can let it all out and I'll be right here for you."

The crying continued at a diminished pace, but she refused to speak. Perhaps she was so out of sorts that she couldn't form any words even if she tried. But after a time, her voice croaked and cracked between wheezing sobs as she forced out the words that tormented her, "It was e-everything, Estê-kun. E-Everything… all rolled t-together. When we were cast out… when dad died… when Fydr and Lial died… when mom went into a coma and they pulled the plug… when I was sold to B-B—"

She couldn't finish the word, the sound deteriorating into more wailing pain. In all the years since they'd been together, she'd never once uttered the name of her Master. It was a psychological scar the batarian had reinforced on his chattel with drugs and near-constant conditioning.

He was 'Master,' not 'Bassac.'

Volinski once spoke to Kelly Chambers about it. She alluded to the similarities between Nirin's inability to speak her Master's name, and Trellani's inability to avoid praising the Thirty whenever she mentioned them.

"Niri… you've been weird since we left the Citadel. What changed? You haven't been like this in years. Do you need new pills to keep the nightmares away? Maybe you've built up a tolerance."

Nirin settled down a bit, her mewling becoming far more sporadic as she tightened her grip on her bahnt, rummaging her claws through his hair and leaving thin lines of red on his scalp. When she finally spoke, it was with a resigned and relieved air, " 'Regards the Works of the Enkindlers in Despair.' "

"Que?"

"That was the was the sentence I found in Rex's computer. It was the only thing in the entire system," she explained, her voice once more under control, "It's been eating away at my thoughts for days. I don't know."

"And you think it's related to…" Volinski drifted off with a shrug, "this?"

"I think so, but I don't know why. Nor do I understand why sharing it with you feels so… _right_."

"I'm always here to be your rock, Niri. You know that."

"I do," she whispered before pulling back and leaving a gentle kiss on his lips, "Thank you, Estêvão."

Volinski didn't respond, he just stared for a moment before pulling her into a tight hug. She almost never used his name like that. Honestly, that might've been the scariest part of all.

* * *

Nirin rested peacefully that night, though the thanazepam still refused to suppress her unconscious mind, the visions had shifted from traumatizing nightmares to psychedelic fever dreams. Forms and faces shifting and morphing, splitting and merging. A conversation with her former sponsor, the volus named Gulta Noor, was interrupted as spindly crab legs erupted from his mouth before planting their tips on his cheeks and lifting the rest of the body out before skittering away – then the entire scene melted into something equally outlandish.

Despite the horror of it all, she felt no fear – even as her neck tingled and she felt like she was being watched. It was a lucid dream, and she vaguely knew she was in no danger. She tried to gather her thoughts and force her body to change into one of the heroes she always imagined when she hacked into a computer system – she managed to summon a sword, but it quickly morphed into a pile of slithering asari scalp-crests. She moved to step on them when she felt the dream dissipate, like her body was jostled.

Opening her eyes, Nirin reflected on her dreams, but didn't know what to think. If they remained lucid and didn't dip into the nightmare zone, she'd be happy to accept them as part of her life. Then she felt a shift on the bed and noticed her bahnt writhing in subconscious agony – hitting her in the arm with his own.

Her companion, unlike her, refused to take anything to suppress the nightmares. She'd questioned his stance, as he'd never turned down narcotics when awake. He told her that he needed to relive the pain, that he would never allow himself to forget what he fought for. She didn't understand the point, since his mechanical arms and legs served as reminders in their own right.

This aversion to sleep-aids left the Brazilian tossing and turning as he did every night, drenched in a cold sweat and letting out pitiable groans and moans. Nirin received a light kick as her bahnt jostled, she curled close and held him tight, the one thing that seemed to calm him, but even this did nothing.

Another minute passed before Volinski leapt up with a scream, shoving Nirin away in the darkness and extending the retractable nano-ceramic blades from his forearms and holding them up in a defensive posture – wild eyes darting through the darkness toward unseen enemies.

Nirin did what she'd learned long ago to do – she prepped the stunner app on her omni-tool and slowly increased the room's light with a haptic dimmer switch. Then she called out in a gentle voice, "Hey, it's okay. You're safe. No jungle here."

Volinski's breathing was heavy, his muscles and myomer bundles tense and ready to spring. For a time, it seemed like he hadn't heard her, but then his breathing calmed and he sat on the edge of the bed, retracting his blades. "…It wasn't Zorya."

"Anhur?" Nirin asked as she saddled up behind him and slid her arms around his neck, burying her nose into the nape of his sweaty neck.

He shook his head. "No… something else… I can't remember, but whatever it was… I feel its eyes upon my soul, even now. I felt a crushing darkness… a cold pressure that my bones—"

"It was just a dream," Nirin interrupted, worried he might become lost in a flashback.

"Maybe… Something about it… I've been on edge ever since this morning. When you told me what you found in that hanar's computer," he admitted with a quiet sigh.

Her eyes widened at his words, finally realizing just how similar his dream had been to hers. "I'm sorry, Estê-kun. I shouldn't have—"

"I've told you before, Niri, seu fardo é meu fardo. Don't suffer alone when I'm here, willing to help. Even if I get hit with psychic shrapnel."

"I know… I'm not sure I deserve you, Estê-kun."

"I'm not sure I deserve you either, Niri," he said as he pulled the quarian into a tight embrace and nuzzled the area where her quills met her forehead plates, "But I don't think we're made for anyone else."

Nirin's brow scrunched up around her forehead plates. "What about Isabel-sama?"

Volinski tensed at the name of his late wife, but as the tension fled him, he held his quarian tighter. "Izzy… she was made for the old me. She was a good woman. I'm not sure she would forgive the things I've done in her name… I'm not sure I'd want her to."

Nirin didn't respond, unsure what to say. Her bahnt so rarely spoke of the woman he'd once loved – _still_ loved. It felt like prying to even utter her name. So she remained silent and nuzzled against her human.

The past was the past, and no one could change it.

* * *

After another hour of holding each other and taking breakfast in bed, the pair set about seizing the day.

Nirin logged in to 'Galaxy of Fantasy' under the handle 'BudaPest_Gambit' and loaded her main profile to try out the 'Waters of Kolono' expansion pack. As her quarian technomage (level 67) set out with a small party of 'randos,' they were joined by one of her gaming friends, 'AmberCladQueen68.' And off they went in search of 'K'l'rh,' the rachni blood wizard hidden in one of the procedurally generated island dungeons – in short, their day was booked up solid.

Volinski, on the other hand, had opened the comm-link on his omni-tool and selected a TTL from his favorites list. It took a minute to connect the FTL comm buoys all the way to Noveria, but once it did, the screen resolved itself into a small office area with a swarthy woman in an expensive business suit staring back.

_"Hello, Estêvão. What can I do for you?"_

"Hey, Gianna. I need to book a room for the weekend."

_"Shouldn't be an issue. You gonna stick around for a bit? You still owe me a beer."_

Volinski grinned at the reminder. Gianna Parasini wasn't one to forget a debt, no matter how small. "You set me up with a room at the Hónghuā and a session with T.Y.M., and I'll buy you the whole goddamn bar."

_"Generous."_

"I pay my debts, woman. I also desperately need a break from this life."

_"That bad, huh? Still flying with the corsairs?"_

"Killin' pirates and slavers is about the only thing I'm good at," Volinski said with a dismissive shrug, "Nowhere else to go but the corsairs."

_"Mm,"_ Parasini hummed with the shadow of a smile.

"What?"

_"Nothing."_

"I see that smirk, you're laughing at me. Why?"

_"Buy me that beer, and _maybe_ I'll tell you."_

"Shocking that a tease like you is still single."

Parasini narrowed her eyes and glanced to the side. _"Oh, would you look at that. No vacancy. I can probably squeeze you two in next month."_

"That's cold, Gianna. And here I thought what we had together was real."

_"Ha! Cool your jets, stud, I'll get you your room."_

"Thanks. I'll see you in…" he trailed off as he glanced at his omni-tool, "three days."

_"See you then,"_ she said as the video feed cut and the line went dead.

Volinski took a deep breath and moved to exit the room, glancing once at his quarian as she tapped away at the haptic keyboard like her life depended on it – cursing someone named 'butcherfanboi_CV.'

* * *

Breaking through the frigid atmosphere of Noveria, the ship's pilot brought the converted frigate low to pull into one of the lower-tier VIP docking bays. Volinski made a mental note to leave a case of kriek lambic for Gianna as thanks – the public docks took forever to process and were, understandably, _public_.

As the ship settled into the magnetic clamps, he and Nirin – along with a small complement of Blood Dragons looking for some R&R – made their way off the ship. Only to be stopped by the stern eyes of Major Maeko Matsuo, commanding officer of the Noverian System Defense Force.

"Alright, Niri?" Volinski whispered, "This is gonna be hard for you, but I need you to shut the fuck up and let me talk to her."

"Nani? But Matsuo-senpai—"

"Do. Not. Start. You know she hates your fucking guts. So keep quiet. We don't need this to become a scene."

Nirin huffed in indignation, crossing her arms over her chest. Volinski rolled his eyes slightly before putting on his most charming expression – overclocking his social augmentations in the process. "Major Matsuo, what's it been, two months? And you look as dignified as ever."

Matsuo didn't respond beyond narrowing her eyes.

"Is there something I can do for you? I'm sure Parasini-san made all the necessary arrangements, given that we weren't shot out of the sky."

Matsuo's frown deepened at the Japanese honorific Volinski had used. It was how she referred to Parasini, true, but it felt like a veiled insult coming from him. "You know why I'm here, Rodríguez-san. Your quarian."

"Listen, I know she's been trouble in the past, but—"

"I suppose five minutes ago is _technically_ the past."

Volinski furrowed his brow at that. "Five min—" he stopped mid-word as he whirled around on his quarian and fixed her with a glare, "What. the. _Fuck_?!"

Nirin glanced at her bahnt before shifting to Matsuo and then back. "I'm sorry, am I allowed to talk now? You said I wasn't before, so…"

Volinski let out a withering sigh as he turned back to the Major. "Alright, no talking our way out of this. We have an appointment with Gianna and a session with T.Y.M., what do we need to do so you're okay with that?"

"Her omni-tool will need to be confiscated," she said with a nod toward Nirin, "and anything else that's capable of hacking a computer system."

"Mm, that's a problem, Matsuo. She's not _relinquishing_ anything, and I think you know that. I'm more than willing to have her lock up her tech on the ship, but we're not handing it over to you. Wouldn't want it to get conveniently 'misplaced' in Noveria R&D."

"That wouldn't happen."

"Because your boss has such a sterling record?" Volinski deadpanned, "Look, I'm willing to compromise with you here, Maeko. Lord knows this girl gives me fits with the shit she pulls, but we can't give you her omni."

Major Matsuo's frown deepened and she shook her head. "If it weren't for Parasini-san, you'd both be under arrest right now. I honestly have no idea what that woman sees in you."

"A good friend?" he offered with a shrug.

"Then she should be more discerning," Matsuo said as she inclined her head, "You may return to your ship to store her tech, but you will need to submit to a body scan before entering port. If either of you – or those men behind you – have anything more sophisticated than a comm-link, you'll be denied access and expelled from the system."

"…You drive a hard bargain. Come on, guys, back to the ship."

The small group made their way back and deposited all their removable tech in storage lockers. It took no more than five minutes for the Dragons to be ready for shore leave. Volinski and Nirin took a bit longer, as the quarian kept hiding datapads and ANI datasticks in her suit. Volinski let his men go on without him as he spent an hour stripping Nirin of her suit and searching every nook and cranny for contraband – the search ended with over a dozen pieces of Matsuo-banned tech.

Satisfied with his search, he gave the suit back and watched her put it on – making sure she didn't sneak something in. That's when he noticed the ghost of a smile on her thin lips. It was the same smile she had whenever she thought she was getting away with something. He immediately reached out to stop her from dressing herself and performed an on the spot cavity search – which found an overly complicated bit of contraband in a very uncomfortable place. He questioned how she would have even used it, and she sheepishly admitted to jury-rigging the thing to work in tandem with her nerve-stim rig to act as a wireless receiver for her suit's UI. A move she justified by claiming she could never be fully disarmed if she was still in her suit.

Finally, _finally_ satisfied that his girl had been 'disarmed,' they made their way off the ship and found Major Matsuo and her Lieutenants still standing stock-still where they'd been before.

* * *

"Hey there, Estêvão. Did Maeko give you any trouble?" Gianna Parasini asked as she brought her glass of beer to her lips, a knowing smile on them as she did.

"Gianna, you know she did, why are you even asking?" Volinski grumbled as he sat down across from her in the booth, Nirin plopping down beside him.

"Because it's funny. Did it seriously take you that long to put away an omni?"

"No, it took that long because every goddamn compartment on that suit of hers had something else that would've given Maeko a fit."

"And yet you put up with it. Ah, true love. Is there anything in the galaxy so romantic?"

"Right, you sure that's your _first_ beer of the day, Gianna?"

"Of course, after all, Noveria is world of technicalities. Even a lie can be true from a certain point of view."

Volinski smiled at her facetious response. It was always amusing to play word games with the silver-tongued. "You spend too much time with the company lawyers, Gianna."

"Can't deny that. Been in meetings with the pedantic bastards all week. I was relieved when you called me. Even if it's a short visit, it's good to unwind for a bit."

"True, it's half the reason we're here," he said as he swirled the beer in his glass, watching the foamy head cling to the sides, "You said you'd tell me what you were smiling about if I bought you a beer."

"I said I _might_ tell you. There was no guarantee."

"It was implied."

"Ha! Now _you're_ the one who sounds like a lawyer," she said with a smile as she shook her head, "You'll have to refresh my memory. What did you say when I smiled?"

"I told you I was killing pirates with the corsairs."

"Ah, yes, that was it. I was smiling because I wanted to confirm that was the case. Because I heard through the grapevine you were running with _dogs_ these days."

Volinski cocked an eyebrow as he sampled his own beer – a novelty ale made from acorns. "Grapevine, huh?"

"Yep. So, is it true?"

"That's a bold claim, Gianna. Makes me wonder if you're spending too much time in the _shadows_."

Parasini's eyes twinkled in amusement as she smiled. "See? Doesn't it feel nice to share mutual secrets?"

"And you wonder why I was leery of a relationship."

"Eh, it all worked out in the end, no? We stayed friends, and you managed to find someone just as crazy as you," she said with a laugh, "You two make a cute pair."

"Aw, you hear that, Estê-kun?" Nirin said as she leaned into her man and brought the glass of triple filtered turian brandy up to her helmet's emergency induction port, "She said I'm cute."

"That's one interpretation," he said as he finished his beer, it had an interesting flavor, but he didn't plan on getting a refill, "How are things with the Board? Heard it was pretty touch-and-go after the Benezia Incident."

"True. Asari commandos, geth troopers, rachni abominations… it's a wonder anyone survived all that. The company took a hit, but it's since rebounded. There's a lot of money coming in from the Alliance. They leased Peak-23 and turned the surrounding area into a killzone. No one goes in without ten different identity checks, minimum."

"And here I am without my key FOB, bummer."

"You'll just have to make do with a hotel suite and a pile of narcotics. It's a hell of a consolation prize."

"Mm," Volinski hummed as he leaned back in the leather booth, "Which room did you book?"

"16B, same as last time. You have an appointment with T.Y.M. in an hour, but you could probably head over now and get a jump on things."

"And leave you alone with my bar tab? Fool me once, Gianna."

"Heh, worth a shot," she chuckled as she finished her beer and signaled the waiter for a refill.

* * *

An hour later and the human-quarian duo were lying next to each other in modified dental engines and surrounded by medical monitors and IV drips. The proprietary narcotics flooded their bodies as the volus research team took notes on their therapeutic effects for psychological trauma.

Volinski's vision exploded in euphoria as his mind melted into itself. His dull, earthly form giving way to the bright colors of a children's cartoon. It was an intoxicating feeling as all the anxiety and stress drained away.

He was content to drift amongst the stars in a drug-induced haze as his high reached its apex. He felt himself floating in zero-g; the sterile walls of T.Y.M. giving way to the vastness of the universe. His body pulled into orbit around a gas giant planet with enormous, vibrant rings as the sound of an electric guitar played in his ear.

He floated toward one of the moons, finding Nirin drifting alongside him and reaching for his hand. Taking hold, the pair descended toward the moon and gently landed on a patch of grass near a field of wheat on one side and a stable of horses on the other. Together, they marched down the dirt road toward the house in the distance, an empty tree swing in the front yard.

Nirin grew shorter with each step and her demeanor changed with it, becoming more energized and bubbly. As they passed the horses, she'd reverted to the size of a child, squealing with delight as she took off as fast as her little legs could carry her. Plopping down on the wooden seat and kicking her legs back-and-forth – too high up to touch the ground.

Volinski smiled and approached, putting his hand on the small of her back and pushing. He smiled at her high-pitched giggles as she climbed into the sky only to swing back again.

"Mais alto, papai!" she shouted with glee.

He obliged and pushed the swing even harder. He felt a sudden welling up of tears in his eyes. The sheer bliss of normalcy all around them. Just him and this child and the wonder of her childhood. It was the purest dream he could conceive.

One more push and the girl flew out of the wooden seat, squealing with delight as she arced through the air and landed with a tumble in the grass, laughing the entire time. Volinski laid down beside her and the pair cloud-gazed.

A swarthy woman with dark, curled hair approached the pair from the porch. "Hey, you two, lunch is ready."

"Aquela parece um debulhador," Volinski said, smiling and pointing to the sky, drawing a coo from the little quarian.

The woman pursed her lips. "It's rude to ignore your wife, Estêvão."

Volinski smiled and looked up at her. "Why don't you lay down with us for a bit, Izzy?"

"Your parents on their way and I don't want to muss up my dress."

"Don't be such a pill, you only live once."

"Fine. If they ask, I'll just blame you."

Lunch grew cold as they picked out animals and monsters made of fluff against the backdrop of a multicolored sky. None of them gave much thought to the colors, nor noticed the way they undulated in the vague shape of a squid that stretched from horizon to horizon. The glowing mass of the sun an all-seeing eye upon them and their private family moment.

Volinski smiled and whispered to himself, "Minha culpa."

* * *

Volinski and Nirin made their way down the ramp toward their ship, the _Cavaleiro Pálido_. The heavily modified ship barely resembled the salarian _Chryma_-class assault-frigate the Blood Dragons originally purchased. They'd arrived in Port Hanshan Friday evening, and had spent the weekend in the tender embrace of their family-friendly neighborhood pharmaceutical mega-conglomerate. All stress and anxiety violently purged through euphoric intoxication.

All in all, it was time and money well spent.

As they made their way back to the docks, they were arrested by the melodious voice of a hanar, "Excuse this one, but we were told to speak with you."

"Who? Me?" Volinski asked as he glanced about.

"Yes. You have been blessed by the Enkindlers. We humbly request that you accept the gift of their benediction."

Volinski glanced at the proffered 'gift,' a sealed metal trunk large enough to fit a batarian corpse if you finagled it a bit. It was apparently shielded against external scanning as well, his ocular implants failing to penetrate the surface. He glanced back to the hanar and cocked an eyebrow. "Who… are you, exactly?"

"This one's declared name is 'Opold,' " the hanar said with a swaying of its luminous body, "We are a humble merchant in this port of call."

"Uh-huh," Volinski said with an unbelieving tone, "If you're a merchant, why are you giving me this for free?"

"The Enkindlers smile upon you."

"…What the fuck does _that_ mean?"

"You have been gifted a soul name."

"Soul name? What are you—" Volinski's words came to an abrupt halt as the pieces fell into place, "Wait, if this is what I think it is, how is that a gift? She fucking _stole_ it."

"Your quarian is quite talented to have broken through the dummy firewalls. Her technique was luminous and instinctual, something most trespassers disdain in favor of rote formula. She was gifted the soul name within as a reward for her creative skills… and she shared that gift with you. You both now walk in the light of the Enkindlers' grace."

"You hear that, Estê-kun? Luminous and instinctual."

Volinski ignored the girl's shallow gloating and focused on the hanar. "You're offering free shit over a fucking name?" Volinski scoffed with a shake of his head, "Follow-up question, that soul name… does that have anything to do with the fuck-all dreams we've been having?"

"The Enkindlers offer their wisdom, but it can be painful for those unprepared. The visions will pass in time, once you accept their benediction."

Volinski narrowed his eyes as he glanced at the case with suspicion. "What is this 'gift,' exactly?"

"This one cannot say. Only that the Enkindlers wish you to have it."

"…Listen, if you're looking for a smuggler, you can just ask outright. I know people."

"Why are you so hesitant to receive the Enkindlers' benediction?"

"Because this reeks of a tra—" Volinski's words came to a halt and he shook his head to clear his suddenly muddled thoughts. Was it the drugs, or something else? "Actually, on second thought, I'll take it. Qual é o pior que poderia acontecer?"

"Indeed. Fair travels, warrior."

"Same to you, merchant," Volinski said as he gathered the case and turned back to his ship, only to find Nirin standing in his way with her head cocked, "What?"

"Why'd you change your mind, Estê-kun?"

"I… don't know. Just felt like the right thing to do, I guess?"

"Mm, sounds like you're still high, bebê."

Volinski frowned. "I don't feel high… wish I did. Incidentally, does this make you question your compulsions at all?"

"Nope."

"Not even a little? You hacked a computer and were infected with a memetic _phrase_, and then you infected me."

"Calculated risk."

"I'm calling bullshit on that. You hacked it for the thrill, without any forethought."

"Yep, and now we got a gift from the _Enkindlers_. Really, you should be praising me, Estê-kun."

"Eat a dick, Niri," he snapped as they sauntered into the airlock.

Nirin gave a huff of indignation. "Not until you praise me."

The Brazilian grunted at the quarian's stipulation, hoping he could summon the willpower to resist for the night. Reaching for his comm-link, he called to the pilot as the decontamination cycle concluded and the door to the ship opened. "We're back, Guilherme. Everyone else on board?"

_"Aye, Capitão. Heads-up, João is hungover and pissed-off. Some asari cadela fleeced him at the hotel."_

"João é um idiota, that's no secret. Weigh anchor and take us back to o Canil," Volinski ordered, feeling the slight vertigo of his ship as it left the Port Hanshan dock.

The _Cavaleiro Pálido_ hummed as it broke through the upper atmosphere on its way back to Minuteman Station. Ensconced in the captain's quarters, Volinski opened his 'gift' and beheld a strange orb of odd textures resting on a bed of satin fabric. It was the size of a beach ball and held an opaque sheen, something that left the eyes unfocused if it was viewed for too long.

"Well… that's fucking ominous."

"Yeah…" Nirin agreed as she started tapping away at her red omni-tool, even as she was entranced by the orb.

Suddenly, the cabin was engulfed in the sound of odd harmonics of an Indian persuasion. It was, in a word, _ominous_. Though it didn't last long.

"VI," Volinski called out, "change music to 'Blues Club' playlist."

The light drums and chanting gave way to a saxophone and the soulful crooning of a vocal savant.

"Darn it, Estê-kun, now I have to dance," Nirin whined as she started swaying her hips and singing along.

"That's better," he said as he saddled up behind her and placed his hands on her hips, swaying with her to the music.

The dancing shifted into a teasing strip as each peeled off the clothes of the other in rhythm to the music. Tangled pant legs left them both stumbling to the bed as their mouths sought each other out. Their passion flared and neither noticed the subtle luminescence radiating from the nearby orb.

* * *

Nirin felt strange, she remembered her bahnt's arms cradling her as she drifted off to sleep, but now it was like her body was weightless – even as her feet were firmly planted on an indiscernible floor. It felt like a dream, but it was off somehow. By this point, there should have been leering Masters or joyous technicolor waifus. Instead, it was endless drear – nothingness as far as the eye could see. A twilight plane of gray ink without any other feature – though she could feel her bahnt in her periphery.

The air was bone-cold and thick with an ephemeral pressure, as if they were standing at the bottom of an ocean. Yet even this paled in significance as they bore witness to the majesty of an ancient and terrible entity. Its bony mantle rising into the unnatural clouds of this place. Three jagged tentacles hung in the air. And in the center of this transcendent form, was a cluster of six glowing blue eyes.

They were captivated and enthralled by the sheer magnitude of its presence. And when it spoke… nothing else mattered.

They heard but one word, strummed against the strands of their souls as the Voice filled their minds and compelled them to obeisance.

One word.

**_Katha_**

* * *

**A/N:** _Shout-out to _**_Ranubis's "Infiltrat0rN7"_**_ for inspiring Niri's gaming habits. That fic is absolutely hysterical and I _command_ you to read it toot sweet!_

_Also, I'm afraid part three (the finale, originally) will be delayed indefinitely. I reviewed it and determined it didn't fit thematically with the first two chapters and would need to be scrapped and rewritten. It's a shame, but I'm glad I caught it._


	3. Parte Três

**A/N:** _Shout-out to this chapter's part-time coauthor **Jacob** for writing some of this – see if you can discern his prose from mine. And go read Chapter 08 of **"The Cerberus Files : Tactical Addenda, Opposing Forces"** by **LogicalPremise**, **Jacob** wrote that chapter for him (along with all the volus CerbFiles) and it ties into this chapter somewhat._

* * *

Swirling indigo clouds floated lazily through the air. The room's filters had been shut off and the occupants were left to bake in the bitter tang of burning cannabis. Estêvão Volinski laid on the floor with a smoldering joint between his ebony fingers – watching the trail of fresh smoke join the stale clouds near the ceiling. Nearby, with his broad shoulders braced against a wall as he sat on the floor, was Theodore Pellham – his own roll of cannabis smoldering between his lips.

Volinski broke the silence after a time, "You ever notice everyone no Cão is a basket case?"

Pel grunted in the affirmative. "Like every goddamn day. Some of us are all right though."

"Nah, I think I said that wrong… Like, everyone has some fucking awful tragic backstory."

Pel took another hit of his joint and became thoughtful. "I… hmm… Kai, me," he mumbled as he counted out the names on his fingers, "Chambers, Trelly, bossman… shit, I guess it really is everyone. At least the important ones."

"I wonder what that says about Cerberus."

"That it's not for the faint of heart. The reefer must be hittin' you pretty hard. You're not usually so philosophical."

"Eh, just… contemplating things. My place in the world and shit like that."

"Lookin' to retire?"

"Not yet…" Volinski said before drifting off, his face scrunching up in confusion, "Does Cerberus even have a retirement policy? Or is this shit like the Mob, blood in and blood out?"

"You're thinking the old Mexican Cartels, but… I dunno. Can't think of anyone who ever quit the Dog and wasn't a traitor." Pel shot up from his slouch and pointed at Volinski. "Minsta!"

The Brazilian favored his friend with an incredulous sidelong glance. "…Minsta is retiring?"

"No, no, no. Earlier, that thing with tragic backgrounds. Minsta doesn't have one."

"Are we considering that fop a member of Cerberus now?"

"For the purposes of this conversation? Yes."

"Hmm, that… hmm," Volinski hummed, "You might be right. I think his wife left him for an asari. That's nothing."

"Yep, same goes for the Dog Princess."

"I suppo— Wait, wait. That's not right. I think Minsta had another daughter who was dating an asari and killed herself."

"Really? Shit, there goes that idea."

"Yeah, but really, it's weak sauce. It sucks she killed herself but put Minsta's trauma up against Niri… not even fucking close."

"It's not a fuckin' competition, dude."

Volinski frowned and reluctantly nodded as he sat up and smashed out his joint in the ashtray. "Yeah, fair enough. My mode of thinking is… eh."

The pair fell into silence once more, content to watch the indigo clouds and secretly pick out the shapes of animals and faces. That one a bison, that one a slug-cat, the whole mass looking like a thresher maw. It reminded one of days gone by, when you could look at a clear sky as a child with wonder in your eyes.

Volinski then saw one that looked like Nirin, and he frowned. "She's getting worse."

"What'd she do now?"

"Not so much what she _did_, as how she acts when she thinks I'm not watching." Volinski closed his eyes and sighed. "I see her crying all the time. She only does it when she's in her suit, so I can't see the tears and she can shut off the suit speakers so I can't hear the sobs, but I see it in her body language. When I reach out to comfort her, she plays it off like nothing is wrong. And I can't even detect the pain when she speaks, it's like talking to fucking Rasa or Brooks."

"It's weird to think of Sunshine crying like that. She's always so peppy."

"Fake it till you make it, I guess. She used to gaslight me so hard on her depression that I genuinely thought I was going crazy, but she can't hide it outside the suit. That's when everything comes crashing down."

"Shit, man. You doin' anything about it?"

"Booze and drugs and sex help distract from it. Otherwise, I've been working with Chambers to try and figure out something. Results are mixed."

"Just keep at it, I guess."

"Well, trying to treat someone who won't acknowledge they have a problem is like… I don't know. Think of an apt metaphor and pretend that I said it."

"Your head's full of grayboxes. It shouldn't be that hard to think up a fuckin' metaphor." Pel chuckled and stamped out his own joint into a nearby ashtray before rising to his feet. "C'mon, let's hit the gym and sweat out the stupid this little therapy session brought to the fore."

Volinski rolled his eyes and grumbled as he clambered to his feet and followed Pel. The room's ventilation kicked in as they left, sucking out the thick, pungent smoke.

* * *

Nirin'Ptrun swirled her container of triple-filtered turian kaless brandy – heavily diluted with deionized water. She was in the station's mess hall, sitting alone in the back corner. She preferred solitude when her bahnt was elsewhere. Pretending to be happy was exhausting without him or Ms. Brooks or Mr. Pellham to play off of. To do so with a stranger was… eh, why bother. It's not like they mattered in the grand scheme. It's not like she mattered to them.

She sighed before attaching the brandy container to her suit's emergency induction port. A small straw extended from the inside of her helmet to her lips and she drank deeply of the strong alien spirit. She made a mental note to send Mr. Pellham another 'thank you' note and a crate of black nano grenades for gifting her the liquor on her last birthday.

The notes were fruity and harsh and difficult to describe. She knew not what flavors the quarian palate could produce, as everything had reverted to nutrient pastes and flavorless, sterilized meats. She'd once inquired about it to Matriarch Trellani, who had seen Rannoch with her own eyes, and the Matriarch said that she had been told – as quarian liquor was poisonous to non-dextros – that it tended to be earthy and semi-sweet, with dry and peppery notes that remained on the tongue once swallowed. So much had been lost in their centuries of wandering that alcohol seemed like a minor thing, but it was symbolic of everything. All races had alcohol, and all races were defined by it in some way. Only the quarians bucked this trend – and the geth, if they count – and only because alcohol production would be a waste of resources.

Perhaps that would change now that they had the colonies of Catynaal and Vyn'lestin to populate. The liveships had always grown food native to the homeworld. Assuming they still had the recipes, it shouldn't be too difficult to start brewing and distilling once more. Nirin glanced at the datapad on the table as she sipped her brandy. It was a news article on the first quarian colonies in living memory – asari and krogan memories excluded, of course. It was an uplifting tale, one of dogged determination and a people's ability to persevere – the propaganda elements were obvious to her cynical eyes, but she still felt an ache of longing in her gut. What might have been had her birth-ship not rebelled with the others? Would she be living in this new Eden? She noted the fawning words about quarian population growth and scowled. Would she have been a broodmare to her people? Would she have been content with that?

The answer to both would have been an enthusiastic 'yes.' After all, had her entire family not been exiled, she would have been raised as a good little suit-rat, doing everything she could for her people – her own desires be damned. But to be a mother… what would that be like? Even if the Master hadn't ruined her body, she still wouldn't be able to have children with her bahnt. It was best not to dwell on such things, lest Estêvão grow suspicious and offer a shoulder to cry on.

She smiled slightly at that. He could be a hard and grumpy man, but he was soft around her when she needed it most – even when it was the last thing she wanted from him. She remembered their bittersweet first meeting – him in full Blood Dragon armor, metal eagle wings spread from his HUSSAR rig as he blasted away Master after Master like an avenging angel. And her… in the parlor with Master's toys, breathing her last as her immune system went into revolt and her body into shock. He carried her away from that place, and grateful tears flowed from her eyes at the memory.

She sucked harder on the straw, until a slight gurgle announced the bottom of the container. She removed the empty brandy container from the emergency induction port and moved to set it down when she glanced back at the extranet article and froze. Her grip tightened and a rage came over her. She screamed in anguish and slammed down the container into the datapad. Then she slammed it again, and again, and again. The near-empty mess resounded with the echoes of breaking technology, encouraging the handful of other patrons to remember they had urgent business literally anywhere else. It was made all the more unsettling as the crazed quarian made not a sound, as her suit speakers were muted.

She swiped an arm across the table, hurling the broken pieces to the ground. She grabbed the edge of the table and lifted with all her might, only to be forced back into her seat – her strength inadequate to break the bolts that held the table suspended from the wall. She collapsed to the table with her head in the crook of her left arm, sobbing as she pounded the table with her right. Her body shook, and had the mess not been deserted, her suffering would have been plain for all to see.

She remained there, sobbing – her tears being wicked away by her helmet's in-built features. Her hysterics slowed, though the pain remained – without the adrenaline-analogue courses through her veins, she could now feel the bruising in her right hand. She clenched her sore fist and listened to her wheezing breath as it echoed in her helmet, content to just sit there and wait for death. It went like this for long minutes until she slowly dozed off, falling straight into one of her familiar nightmares.

_"Make not a sound, kashka," Bassac said as he forced the pliers into her mouth, clamping it around the first tooth._

She shot up in her seat as the phantom pain of her memories washed over her. Her heart was racing, and there was a slight tremor in her quills. She took several gasping breaths until she finally calmed down. She walked over to the Tupari machine and ordered a tube of Chippo brand flavored dextro energy paste – bubblegum-artichoke. Her boots clicked and cracked over the broken datapad as she returned to her seat and inserted the tube into the emergency induction port and slurped down her chosen poison.

She idly brought up her ruby-colored omni-tool and started perusing her bahnt's email account. They were mostly the same ones she received – station announcements, an e-vite to happy hour, etc. There was also a message from Ms. Chambers imploring them both to stop self-medicating – fat chance. One of the messages was flagged. Opening it, she saw that it was a forwarded invitation to Bekenstein for dinner with his parents – they were celebrating their anniversary next week, she would need to get them something nice. She then swiped into his deleted messages and found more of the same – business mixed with personal.

She was about to close it down when she noticed an odd message with the subject line 'Station VIP.' She didn't remember receiving a message like that, so she clicked into it and found that it had been sent by Mr. Harper himself. She skimmed through it with a lazy glance – 'under no circumstances… blah, blah… our guest is relegated to room… yada, yada… attached is a picture of…'

The straw fell from her lips. The image held within it a giant of a man. His blackened eyes shimmering with a haughty arrogance she hadn't seen in years – it sent her heart to flutter. She checked the room number and realized it wasn't far from the mess. She hurriedly scrambled out of the booth and skipped out of the mess hall with a pep in her step that had been absent for some time.

Purpose.

* * *

Volinski was nearly through his yoga routine when he started to worry his lip with his teeth. It wasn't the exercise that bothered him, though he found yoga to be a bit feminine for his tastes. Nor was it the lingering high of the cannabis… though maybe that had contributed. No, it was his state of mind in recent days. Night after night he had the same dream. Him and Niri in the vast inky blackness as a mighty leviathan watched over them.

It felt wrong. Odd. Worse still, he found trouble discussing it with others. He could speak to Niri, and any of his crew as easily as discussing the weather. But speaking to anyone else about it was… awkward? That was probably the best way to describe it. Even some of his Dragons, those not assigned to the _Cavaleiro Pálido_, seemed forever out of reach on this topic. He couldn't talk about it directly, but maybe if he were indirect…

He glanced over at Pel as the man stacked weight after weight on the barbell. The gym originally consisted of resistant cables and bars, but Pel had insisted on a classic style – claiming it felt more real.

_Tição's_ _a simple guy. I can do this. I can talk to him. I just need to relax._

_Relax…_

Volinski took a deep breath, though it wavered slightly on the exhale. "Hey, uh, Pel, you ever have something that… I don't know. Like you want to talk about something, but you can't? Like there's an awkwardness you just can't get over? Like you've done something and feel guilty maybe?"

Pel's eyes narrowed as he slid the final free weight on the metal bar of the bench press. "Something you wanna share?"

"Naw, I just…" Volinski drifted off, then became startled, "Fucker, don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a fucking Hades plant or some shit."

"You'd probably have blown up the base making a cup of coffee if you were Hades," Pel quipped, "It's just, the way you said it…"

"It came out wrong. I'm not sure how to address this fucking albatron swinging 'round my neck."

"Jesus fuck, man. '_Albatross_.' The fucking word is 'albatross.' "

Volinski drew a haughty sniff. "Fake news."

"Tch, this fucking guy."

"Point is," Volinski grunted, shifting into a tortoise pose, "I got something noodling around in my head and I can't talk about it. I can talk to Niri and some of my Dragons, but anyone else is… I don't know. It's like I can't bring myself to speak about it."

"Well what is it? I'll listen to ya, man, you know that."

"I know, and I appreciate it. It's nice to have someone put up with my bullshit who _isn't_ batshit." Volinski shifted into the shoulder pressing pose – the awkward position helped dull the unease he felt when speaking to an outsider about the Revelation. "It's… well… faith."

"Huh?"

"I…" Volinski drifted off, his words caught in his throat as happened every other time. With a growl of frustration, he untangled himself and sat up straight, pinning Pel with an intense look. "What would you do if you saw God?"

Pel's expression became indignant and he sat down on the bench with a thud.

"Don't gimme that look, tição."

"Man, what'd I say about calling me that?"

Volinski shrugged. "I use it as a term of endearment."

"Keep it up and I'll endear my foot to your ass. _Again_."

"Bah, you can't catch me off-guard _twice_," Volinski said with a dismissive handwave, "But I'm serious, Pel. What would you do? If you _knew_, in your _bones_, that it was true… how would that change you?"

Pel was quiet. "So, you found God, did you?"

"I found… _a_ god," Volinski admitted uncomfortably, "I've never felt so small. This essence enveloped me and invigorated me. And I… I don't think it even knew I was there. That's the gulf of presence between us. Like I was insignificant, _truly_ insignificant."

"And when was this?"

"It was…" Volinski began, but became a bit sheepish and embarrassed, "…after we left Noveria."

Pel laughed. "You fuckin' druggie idiot. You were high."

"I wasn't _that_ high," he grumbled, suddenly unsure.

"Heheheh," chuckled Pel slowly, "Well, intoxication is mind-expanding sometimes. Maybe you got a future in the priesthood."

"Yeah, I'm sure patrão'll be fucking thrilled when I take over the Minuteman chapel."

"Ha! That'll be the fuckin' day. Like anyone would listen to a godless Brazilian."

"And you wonder why I keep calling you 'tição.' "

"Heh, ain't no secret why you sling your slurs," Pel said as he laid down and positioned himself under the barbell, "One of these days you'll need to man up and grow outta that shit."

Pel lifted the barbell off its j-hooks and went through a set of bench presses – up and down. The bar dipped slightly at the ends from all the weight. Volinski meanwhile made do with a gym mat – doing a series of plank exercises and mountain climbers. All he had left that was still meaty was his core, the limbs were all prosthetic. They continued in grunting silence for a time, each struggling near the end of their routine.

"So," said Volinski, panting his way through a series of mild stretches after his set, "I saw the memo about that batarian we got lurkin' 'round base. You met him yet? What's he like?"

"Huh?" Pel let the barbell catch on the j-hooks. He sat up on the bench, wiping a gleam of sweat off his bald pate with a towel. "What's he like? Okay, you ever had that one asshole buddy? A _good_ buddy, but an equal part asshole? Like he's a dude who's cool to hang out and drink with, he's a good wingman, he's got your back in a fight, but at the same time you would never, _ever_, leave this asshole alone with your girl or your sister or pretty much anyone you really care about? That's what he's like. He's that asshole buddy."

"So he's a batarian you?"

"Fuck off. Point is, I didn't wanna like him, but I like him. I also have a plan to kill him whenever he steps into the room, because I know for damn sure he's thinking the same thing about me."

Something about that irked Volinski in a way he couldn't fully explain. "Yeah, okay, I think I get that part."

Pel stared at him. "Do you, though?" he asked before laying down on the bench and resuming his set.

"It's just… look, I don't fuckin' know how to say it, but there's something about treating a vesgo like it's one of us that just _gets_ to me, you know?" said Volinski, taking a sip of water he didn't really want. It only made him feel more uncomfortable. "It's hard to get past, after everything they've ever done – that's all I'm saying. I don't care how fuckin' charismatic or useful this asshole is, end of the day, we're not here to make friends. They're still the enemy, and we're treating him a _hell_ of a lot better than he'd be treating us. You know that, right?"

"Gimme a sec," said Pel, and he finished his last set on the bench press, panting and giving a single strained grunt as he placed the barbell back on the hooks. He sat back up, wiped the sweat from his brow, and began taking off the plates and neatly stacking them back on the weight tree.

Volinski decided to do some of those star jumps the base therapist recommended.

_Pretty sure that guy is just fuckin' with me, wants me to look like a goddamn cheerleader in front of everyone, probably laughing his ass off at this._

Still, they were meant to help his injuries, so he figured he didn't have much of a choice.

Pel leaned against the power rack and folded his arms. "Look, man, the way I see it, shit ain't that complicated. This is the Dog. We all know what the score is. You do what you gotta do. Bossman gives you the order? You do it, because you know he's smarter than us and he's thought this shit out a million ways to Sunday, and he'll give you the support you need to get the job done – which is more than the fuckin' Alliance ever did. I'm not on board with that Iron and Shadow Cell shit, but they're dead now, so fuck 'em, right? We're the best way forward for our dysfunctional mess of a species. That's it."

"And that means we gotta get into bed with every sketchy, criminal asshole in the galaxy?"

Pel actually laughed at that. "Bruh, for real? _We're sketchy, criminal assholes_."

"He's a batarian. They're fuckin' slavers. I'm not sure if you've looked in a mirror recently, but your ancestors—"

"You're treading on some mighty thin ice here, _Estêvão_."

"You know what I'm trying to say."

Pel grunted. "Had this… weird talk about that with our squint guest, actually. About a lot of things. He's a slick fuckin' talker, I'll give him that. Got this combination of silver tongue and swagger, reminds me a lot of some of the ward politicos back in the SoCal Arcology. That, and maybe one of our Admirals of the Red. Or a Primarch."

"As in a turian?" asked Volinski.

"Yeah." Nodded Pel. "I get that Primarch vibe from him. I mean, that was pretty much his job, socially. So anyway, we started talking trash at first, just flinging shit at each other, it was fun. Batarians buy into that a lot. Then we started talking the good shit – grub, cash, women, fights – and I thought: 'man, I know this asshole does more heinous shit in a week than I do in a year, but I like hangin' out with him more than I do about ninety percent of my own people, so fuck it.' One of the strange things in life is that we don't always like good people, and don't always hate bad people. There's probably some German word for that."

Volinski grumbled something in Portuguese.

"Easy now, I'm gettin' to that part of the story. No one has an attention span these days, do they?"

"Alright, alright, keep going. I'm listening, which is why I'm struggling not to vomit at the idea of you 'talking women' with a vesgo."

"Yeah, there were some undertones to that part that were… well, best not to look too closely. Anyway, eventually the slave thing came up," said Pel, "It wasn't anything personal, I was just curious, to be honest. I pointed out it's generally considered fucked up by most humans, he pointed out that literally every great human civilization practiced it, called it 'monkey hypocrisy.' I pointed out a lot of us don't, he pointed out that I'm more than happy to make use of hookers and shit, 'enjoy the fruits with my eyes closed,' I said 'fair point.' And then he… I mean, he delivers a speech, really. Good fuckin' speech too, I couldn't look away. Talked about what he calls the 'natural order of things,' like a cosmic food chain, some metaphysical shit, where the Dark Gods are at the top, and they offer the Pillars of Strength as the only viable way to live through the struggle against the Darkness. So you have a physical, spiritual, and apocalyptic reason to obey. Talked about how the point of slavery wasn't really to keep slaves, or even out of sadism or control, it was ultimately an act of worship – you're acknowledging this natural order, this hierarchy, where the strong do what they will and the weak suffer what they must."

Volinski stared at him. "Tell me you don't actually believe any of that shit, man."

"What? Nah, fuck no, but that ain't the point. I was just listening, and no one does that anymore. Not really. So you can learn a lot that way. It was… look, I dunno if it was his delivery, but it was compelling. I can get my head around it. I can get why they think that way. We could use that in the Dog."

Volinski didn't have anything he could say to that.

"Now c'mon, let's get back to it. This is getting too serious," said Pel, "Your routine is pathetic. Need to lift some shit."

"Two things. One, my limbs are mechanical, lifting weights would be meaningless. Two, _your limbs are mechanical_, so why are _you_ lifting?"

"Only one of my arms is metal, dipshit."

"Still doesn't explain why you do two-handed exercises."

"Just flexin' for the bitches."

"Bitches, what bitches? We're the only ones here," Volinski said, gesturing to the empty gym.

"Exactly."

"…Oh, fuck _you_."

Pel just laughed. Then he tried his best _not_ to laugh as the Brazilian began a round of 'oscillating glute stretches.' He quietly mused that the five hundred credit bribe he gave the base therapist was money well spent. "Heard you're all buddy-buddy with Dog Princess. Licking the dew off her noble feet."

Volinski finished twerking. "What's wrong with licking feet? Tiffany's all right once she drops that hoity-toity act of hers."

Pel grunted. "Man, you know what she said to me? First talk we had, officially?"

"Something snooty I reckon."

"Made a witty crack about me being a 'shitty father.' "

Volinski paused. "But… you are a shitty father."

"Man, fuck you."

"Fuck me? Fuck you! I've heard you openly state to all and sundry – on _multiple_ occasions – that you're a shitty father. It's not my opinion. It's yours."

Pel scratched his head. "When was that?"

"You mean most recently? Overheard you and Mr. Leng in the mess."

"Hmph. Whatever, man." Pel shrugged. "Spoilt little rich girl thinks her family name and witty 'jokes' are gonna mean something in our world, bitch is gonna last one deployment. She swallows her pride and tries to _learn_ off the best, she might make it. Hope she does. Only because I thought we'd gotten rid of all these useless assholes after BENEDICT."

"And yet you're still here."

"Fuck off. Point is, that bitch is annoying."

"I find that I'm something of a connoisseur of annoying women," Volinski quipped as his omni-tool buzzed and he glanced at the caller ID with a smile, "Speaking of which."

A rectangular display appeared above his orange-sheathed hand. An indigo quarian facemask hovering on screen.

_"Estê-kun, you big bully!"_ Nirin said, her waifish cadence reverberating over the speaker.

He scoffed, "What'd I do now?"

_"How could you hide that message from me?"_

"…What message?"

_"The one about Master!"_

The color drained from Volinski's face. "Niri, I understand that you're mad, but for god's sake don't—"

_"Gotta go, Estê-kun. I think that's Master's room up ahead."_

"Niri, don't! He's—"

The line went dead.

"—SIU!" Volinski just stared at his omni for a second before bolting toward the door. "Fuck!"

Pel followed in his wake. "This is gonna get stupid."

* * *

Volinski ran down the hall with Pel on his heel. Up ahead, near the VIP's room, were a pair of Centurions climbing to their feet – the telltale signs of stun and overload app usage plain to see.

He screamed at them, "Open the fucking door!"

One of them hit the door release and they rushed in, guns drawn, taking kneeling positions on the left and right as Volinski burst through the middle. He skid to a stop as he took in the scene, finding Nirin singing and making lunch for the hardest-looking batarian fucker he'd ever seen.

He looked around as sweat dripped down his face and his heart pounded against its cage of bone.

The apartment was spartan and industrial, full of exposed concrete, brushed gunmetal steel and aluminum, and warm lighting. The furniture was a strange blend of utilitarian and comfort, and aside from the burnt-orange Cerberus logo, the only real colors were black, titanium, chrome, chocolate-brown, and bone-white. There were strange black stone statues dotted around each room.

At the dining table sat the batarian. Even at ease, he radiated a certain swaggering nonchalance and barely contained violence, his golden face cut with a haughty smirk and four inky-black eyes. He was wearing a black armored slicksuit with the Cerberus logo, which was slightly reassuring, along with a savage-looking mace at his belt, which was not. He held in his hands a strange C-shaped… harp? Guitar? Whatever it was, the batarian was playing it with the skill and passion of a true virtuoso, and the tune was far catchier than Volinski wanted to admit.

_This asshole's arms are thicker than my goddamn waist._

Volinski turned to look at Nirin. She still hadn't noticed him.

Nirin was singing as she fussed over some kind of deep pan dish, alternating layers of pastry with layers of spicy red paste and mashed fish, every now and then throwing hot peppers and some kind of cheese-like substance in there. The rich, pungent aroma filled the entire apartment, and Volinski was instantly filled with hunger.

And then it hit him.

Nirin wasn't singing a quarian tune, or one of the human songs he'd turned her on to, or even some of her usual nonsense rhymes and stream-of-consciousness chatter.

She was singing a high-caste batarian anthem, and she was singing it with _gusto_, leaning into the bombastic orchestral sections and doing her best to growl out the harsh vocals.

"What. The. _Fuck_?!"

He didn't know whether to scream or whisper, aiming for both and failing.

Nirin continued singing and cooking as if he weren't there. The batarian, on the other hand, looked up at him as he stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded by this parody of domestic bliss.

"Uh…"

The batarian smirked even harder than he already was, tilting his head slightly to the right. "Ah, monkey. You must be 'Volinski.' Greetings. Please, sit. Kashka is making us pastries."

Volinski hated this asshole already, hated that fucking voice that sounded like every slick politician and noble general he'd ever resented in his life as a semi-professional fuck-up.

_He sounds like a mix of Genghis Khan and some douchebag hitting on your girl at a club. And 'kashka'… did this motherfucker give her a slave name?!_

"Hey, man," Pel said in a hushed voice behind him, "I'mma bow out. I'll catch ya later."

"What?! Do _not_ leave me alone with him!" Volinski hissed.

But Pel was already walking away, his hand raised in farewell. "Later."

"Cabrão inútil," Volinski cursed and drew a labored breath to calm his nerves, tasting the spice in the air. He glanced back at the pair of Centurions on either side of the doorway – still at the ready with guns drawn. "At ease, boys."

The Centurions rose to their feet and lowered their weapons – though they did not holster them.

"So, what happened? How'd she get past you?"

"Our orders are to guard the… VIP," the one on the left said, spitting out the initialism like a poison, "Your quarian tried to enter and we blocked her. She hacked our gear in two seconds flat and left us sprawled on the floor as she went inside."

Volinski sighed. "Mr. Harper's gonna fucking kill me." He glanced over at his oblivious girlfriend as she stirred a pot of… something. "So what now?"

"Not sure. Your quarian's actions have been reported. We'll see what Command has to say about it. Until then, we'll return to our posts."

Volinski glanced at his clothes and lack of armaments – beyond those hidden in his augs. "Yeah, can you _not_ stand outside please. If this asshole tries something, we'll be dead before you open that door."

The Centurion nodded. "Understood, sir."

Volinski watched the guards move to either side of the doorway, their weapons at the ready. He turned back to Nirin and the batarian. "Again: what the _fuck_? Who are you?"

"Magyar Sek, Blackened Mace of the Intervention and Fourth-Born of the Patriarch of the Third Rotation of the Hegemon, glory be to his name. And you?"

"Jesus Cristo." Volinski shook his head. "Batarian titles, I swear, you put the Palavanus to shame with your melodrama."

The batarian snorted. "We value the majesty of the deed and of the will. It can be… flowery, to your ears, I admit. And your titles?"

Volinski gave a bitter, dismissive bark of hollow laughter. "Volinski, of nowhere and nothing. Proud Brazilian and prolific vesgo-killer. In case your dime-store translator didn't catch that, it means 'squint.' So. The fuck are you doing with Niri?"

Before the batarian could respond Nirin turned around. Volinski wondered how she hadn't reacted or even noticed him until now, and figured it was down to her being caught up in whatever that music was.

"Oh. Hey, Estêvão. I'm making lunch! You should ask if you can have some. It'll be tasty, I promise."

He tensed, still frozen in the doorway. Those words. That tone. He didn't know how to process any of it, and so, Estêvão Volinski sat down at a table with his alien girlfriend and their equally alien host and had the most surreal lunch of his life.

He tried to remind himself of all the reasons he had to hate the squints – it was an exhaustive list. He kept telling himself he'd have killed this fuckin' squint if it wasn't part of the Dog now, but if he was being honest with himself, he wasn't sure he could do it – at least not alone. He sure as hell knew he wouldn't survive the consequences if he did. Intel source like that alone was valuable, to say nothing of his combat and leadership skills.

Volinski sat at the table, staring at Nirin in amazement as she took two bottles of batarian ale from the cooler, cracked them open, and then served them.

She served Sek first.

Volinski clenched his fist, taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling.

"Relax, monkey," said Sek, fixing all four eyes on Volinski, "Technically, you're only a cuckold if I penetrate her."

Volinski slammed his mechanical arm down on the table, his entire face flushing. "Motherfucker, I don't care how much you're worth to patrão, you keep pulling this shit and I will _turn you into a hat_!"

Nirin huffed from over in the kitchen, "Estêvão, don't kill the mood. You're a guest here."

_Meu Deus._

"Besides, the leather is still good on your fedora."

"That's not the goddamn point, Niri."

Sek took all this in with another smirk. "Why so serious? This is merely a pleasant meal."

"Not the word I'd choose for this. Not by a long shot."

"At least you can appreciate our music," said Sek, sipping his ale and glancing at the table.

Volinski frowned and followed the batarian's gaze, only to see an ebony metal finger tapping along to the beat.

_Goddammit._

Volinski sighed and clenched his fingers into a fist before taking a swig of his drink. It turned out to be as smooth as the soundtrack, all biscuity malt flavors that left a pleasant, tingling numbness on the palate.

"You people can jam and brew… I'll admit that much."

Sek inclined his head ever so slightly to the left. "The composition of both is my own creation. Such a pleasure to meet a monkey of taste and culture."

Volinski bristled, but before he could respond Nirin arrived at the table, cooing over the main dish as she placed it before them and began serving – Sek first, then Volinski, then herself.

The meal was delicious, a deeply satisfying blend of chewy pastry, that strange cheese, fresh fish, and that rich, pungent, numbing spice blend that seemed to make all his senses come alive. The ale was perfectly matched and mellowed the edge from the peppers even as it gave him a clear buzz. He started nodding along to the bassline again.

_Anywhere else, with anyone else, this would be a perfect way to spend an afternoon._

Volinski looked at Nirin.

_She should be squealing with glee while she plucks out his eyes with a pair of pliers, not doing this doting girlfriend dinner party shit. Why is she— ah, shit, she's never been alone with a high-caste before, has she?_

_Not since Bassac._

There was a poise and confidence to her that he'd never seen before, as if she were an actress who'd been handed a script and a stage and then thrown herself into the role. There was none of her stream-of-consciousness babble, none of her sing-song voice, none of the obsessiveness over human nerd culture, none of those broken coping mechanisms she'd acquired over the years.

What had replaced it terrified him.

_She's gone from a weeb to a goddamn geisha._

The conversation flowed freely. Nirin talked about things he'd never heard her talk about before – her time in Citadel Space, her thoughts on the Migrant Fleet, all the cheeky gossip she'd heard from the mess – but what shook him was the way she said it. Her manner was, if not mature, then glib and entertaining, as if she were a hostess at a dinner party instead of a tech-obsessed, shut-in geek.

Underneath that, though, in a place in his heart that he was ashamed to admit even existed, part of him found this change deeply appealing. Even arousing.

He felt sick admitting this.

He found himself falling into conversation with Sek about mêlée fighting, trading stories and asking about the mace at Sek's belt. Turned out it was his old sigil of office, a ritual antique made of lacquered hardwood and polished edges of something called 'Pillar-stone.'

Sek himself inquired about Volinski's gear. Despite himself, the Brazilian waxed poetic about the HUSSAR rig and its history, both sharing a laugh at how batshit crazy the soldiers of the Commonwealth had been to strap rocket-powered wings to their backs. Mass effect technology had since made it a much safer device. Sek seemed genuinely interested in the gleaming metal wings, though he didn't pass up the opportunity to quip about 'flying monkeys.'

Volinski found himself torn between wanting to punch him or share another drink. _Okay, you're still an asshole, but you're an interesting asshole._

Once they'd finished their meal, and another ale, Nirin began collecting their plates and clearing the table.

Sek turned to Volinski. "We must speak of business, you and I. Regarding your quarian."

"What, she can't stay for this?"

"No. It would be better if she did not."

Volinski sighed and turned to speak to her, but Nirin was ignoring him and facing Sek, her hands crossed at her waist and her poise demure.

"Did I do well, Master?"

Sek nodded, his head neutral. "Indeed, kashka. You may leave us now. We will speak again later."

Nirin squealed in delight and almost skipped out of the room when she left, not even bothering to say 'goodbye' to Volinski as she passed the guards. He knew she'd be in a spectacular mood for the rest of the day, and he was, if he was being honest, filled with an unyielding rage that he was not the cause of it. Envy was a bitter sin.

The batarian noticed, of course.

"Your quarian," smirked Sek, "who was her Master?"

Volinski grimaced. "Bassac."

Sek shifted his head until it was set perfectly in the center of his gaze. "I see."

"What's this? No snide remarks? Not gonna puff out your chest again, seu filho da puta?" Volinski growled.

"No. I do not jest with you when I say I have no affection for Bassac, or any of his kind."

Volinski tensed. "You know him?"

"We are not friends, but Bassac is high-caste and dozens of his family members serve in the Fist of Khar'shan, so of course we crossed paths socially."

_The untouchable monster who ruined Niri's whole life, who still has her waking me up with her nightmares, and this asshole just bumps into him at weekend parties all the damn time._

_This fucking life._

Sek continued. "He himself controls one of the largest high-caste slaving… 'pools'? 'Corrals'? I do not know the word in monkey language."

" 'Cartels'?" suggested Volinski. _This fucking guy adds 'monkey' to everything. Wonder if it's a tic._

Sek nodded. "Yes, that is accurate."

"Okay. So then what's your issue with him?" said Volinski, sipping a mouthful of ale.

"His blatant disregard for human rights."

Volinski choked and spat out his beer.

Another flash of fangs. "That was, of course, a joke. He and I both care for human rights about as much as humans do."

"Is every Hegemon-caste this much of a smartass prick?"

"Yes."

Volinski shook his head as Sek continued.

"My issue is with the political and religious direction of my species' new ruling elite," said Sek, and Volinski found himself caught up in the batarian's increasingly passionate oratory, "They do not deserve to rule. What use is it to slaughter your entire herd or burn down your own garden and then claim mastery over the blood and ashes? Is that a measure of greatness, or simply the product of stupidity? This is neither the time nor the place for a dissertation on the subject, but know this: they are sacrificing long-sight mastery for short-sight glory, and I cannot respect that, let alone support it. That they are polluting and squandering the inheritance of the Great Intervention, with its thousand years of magnificence and culture, is merely my final reason for despising them."

Volinski gave a slow, sarcastic clap. "Bull. Fuckin'. Shit. You were in the Unit, you knew _exactly_ what you were getting up to and don't even try to deny it, you—"

"No." The batarian shook his head, making a strange growling sound. "You misunderstand. I do not mean to… 'whitewash'? Is that the word? Whitewash my career in the Unit. It was, objectively, glorious. And yet this Emperor and his court lackeys, like Bassac, have taken that from me, and in doing so, damned my kind to a new dark age. That is why I am here, with Cerberus, and with you now."

"As if you have a choice. You're Hegemon-caste. The Emperor declared you anathema."

Sek grunted. "Indeed he did, and whilst it is not my place to question the supremacy of the Most High and Dreaded Emperor—"

"This shit's like the Matriarca with the Thirty, right? Even when you hate these assholes you still gotta salute 'em?"

"…You might say that, monkey. Regardless, I wish to change this state of affairs."

Volinski leaned in and sneered. "And why should I care about any of that?"

"Because neither you nor your quarian pleasure-slave are getting _stronger_ over time. Nor better, as you would see it. If you help achieve my goals, I can aid your own. You want to help her, yes? Take some of her pain away?"

"Of course I do. Like you'd fucking understand any of that."

Sek shrugged. "I had a favored mate once. She could converse with me, on a basic level, but she was always curious, and I enjoyed that. She could play a drum and do some maths. And cook. This pleased me. Her high-caste-status and sturdy nature was also excellent for breeding."

"Yeah, that's a storybook vesgo romance right there. Fucking beautiful."

"Regardless of your weak moralizing and performative virtue, my point stands. You wish to help her?"

Volinski felt his heart cave in. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"Mm," said Sek, nodding as he contemplated the matter, "Undoing Bassac's damage will be difficult, but not impossible. She will never truly heal, but she will… grow, or at least survive alongside you."

"Yeah, see, 'survive' ain't exactly what I was aiming for. You understand."

Sek shrugged again. "Is it not better than the alternatives?"

"Maybe. So what are you gonna do for me?"

"I can… speak to her. Sometimes you will need to be present, other times you will not." Sek leaned in and stared at Volinski. "I will attempt to alter certain neuro-linguistic frameworks, boundary limitations, and her reward/punishment circuits. The ways her neurons bind and the way her body reacts to stimuli. Some quarian issues, like matters of group identity, meaningful work, and communal bonding will also need to be dealt with."

Volinski stared back, mouth agape and a slight suspicion building. "You sound like a goddamn shrink, like Chambers or the Matriarca or some shit. How'd you learn this? Why do you think it could work?"

Sek folded his hands together. "You're familiar with the SIU, no? You've read the report the high-caste Minsta female put together?"

_Oh, Tiff is gonna love that description. I wonder if it has anything to do with the blond hair._

"Yeah, I read it, but I already knew the gist of it. Whole lotta sadistic shit, and if you wanna call the rest 'culture,' go ahead."

"I wouldn't expect a monkey to understand." Another fanged grin. "Though a Brazilian? Maybe."

"Shocking that the Emperor decided to kill you and your whole fucking caste."

"The 'bottom line,' as you would say, is that we have… extensive experience in working with the minds of almost all alien subjects. I commanded an entire Mace of the Intervention. I am familiar with this business. I can help you help her."

"Right," Volinski grunted, "and what do you want?"

Sek grinned. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Don't play coy with me, asshole. Never met a batarian who didn't have a supernatural ability to look after his own first."

"You know us all too well, it seems. I will… request your aid in the future. It will not be a small favor. I expect you to answer the call."

"Well if that isn't the most ominous fucking thing I've heard all day…"

"Do we have an accord?"

Volinski's expression darkened. "Not yet, no. I can work with a little quid pro quo, but there's limits. _Serious limits_, you get me?"

"Monkey, you wound me," said Sek, his voice sly, "Whatever are you implying?"

"That I'm not gonna do any sick, batarian-style shit, is what I'm saying," said Volinski, throwing up his hands, "No slaving. No kidnapping. No rape. No abuse. No sacrifices to the Dark Gods or other horrible nonsense. That kinda shit."

"It pains these eyes that you would even suggest it."

Volinski folded his arms. "I bet."

Sek smiled. "It will not involve wanton 'evil,' if that is what troubles you. Or at least no more than you already partake in. What matters is that I will call upon you to return this favor, and that you must answer the call. Do we have an agreement?"

Volinski stood up to leave, grimacing as he weighed his options. Much as it galled him, there probably wasn't any other way to help Nirin. "I'm leery of the implications, but… yeah. Okay. We've got a deal."

Sek grinned, baring a mouth full of fangs half the size of Volinski's fingers. "Excellent. We shall speak again. Until then, may the Dark Gods lend their strength to yours."

"Uh, yeah… normally a 'see ya' will do, but whatever. One more thing… you called her 'kashka' earlier. The translator didn't help with that one. What's it mean?"

Sek tilted his head slightly to the right and smirked again. "It is a high-caste slang term for a… favored subject, a warm body of interest. Normally, the youngest, most fertile, or most satisfying pleasure-slave or concubine, but it can refer to any of your stable who especially delights you. With fine music or cooking, for example. Or through other means."

Volinski narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the right, and then kept tilting until his ear was flush with his shoulder. "…Fuck you, and I'll see you around."

Far from insulted, Sek actually smiled at the display. "Indeed, monkey Volinski. Indeed."


End file.
